


Enemies to Brothers b/w Slowvier Origin Story

by nunyabidness



Category: Burn This - Wilson, Midnight Special (2016), Slow - SNL Sketch (2020)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Adam Driver Smut, Blow Jobs, Boss/Employee Relationship, Bryan IS slow and wears loafers, Crack Treated Seriously, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gelato vs. ice cream, Humor, Minor Violence, My First AO3 Post, My First Fanfic, Pining, Sexual Content, Soft boi Bry, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, Violence over ice cream
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28471851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nunyabidness/pseuds/nunyabidness
Summary: The dream internship you landed at Bryan’s recording studio opens up more than just doors.
Relationships: Bryan/Reader, Pale (Burn This)/Original Female Character(s), Pale (Burn This)/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	Enemies to Brothers b/w Slowvier Origin Story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SlowBryan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlowBryan/gifts).



> This is my first fic!! and started as a companion piece to Take it slow, written from the intern’s perspective. It’s cracky and dumb, and I just really hope it makes people laugh. Pale and Paul Sevier also make appearances in the story, and there might be more interactions with other AD characters - depending on how ambitious I get. 
> 
> Dedicated to [@slow_bryan](https://twitter.com/Slow_Bryan) rp account on Twitter and the Turtle House GC. Thank you for keeping me in stitches and inspiring me every day <3
> 
> Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dream internship you landed at Bryan’s recording studio opens up more than just doors.

It’s the first month into your internship at RnR Studios, and _finally_ , it seems like all the disparate pieces of your life are coming together as they should. 

You’re in the last semester of university - ready to graduate at the top of your class with the audio engineering degree you worked so hard for four long years to achieve. The internship is amazing - all the practical hands-on experience you’ll gain will be invaluable once you’re ready to find a full-time gig. 

And Bryan, slow, Slow Bryan - he’s been a dream to work for - patient, thorough, just as proficient on the technical side as he is while performing. You’ve been a massive fan for years, since highschool, so just to be in his periphery, working for an artist of this caliber is overwhelming, the mf’ing dream.

You come in each day feeling like you're floating, and the high lasts all day and all night. The crazy long work hours would make anyone less committed weep from exhaustion, but you, you’ve got this. 

You’re humble, do the menial stuff - like answering phones, feeding Turbo (the official RnR mascot) and cleaning out his tank, taking out the trash, getting coffee, ordering and grabbing food for the artists from the restaurant on the ground floor of the studio building, making runs for liquor, weed, and even party favors sometimes (yayo, speed, whatever was requested) - always with a smile, because this is how you pay your dues. 

But you love, relish, adore the rare chance when you get access to the studio. The honor of being able to sit in the control room on live sessions, you think, you hope, Bryan grants this distinction just because he likes having you around. 

Being near him is intoxicating, but you’re a big girl. You hide it well, keep it professional, or try to at least. 

The only exception being that one fateful day. When you reflect on it, which lets be honest, is _often_ , fuck--- you can’t _stop_ thinking about it, still not sure at this point if what happened was a blessing or a curse.

You were rushing of course, always moving through the studio with an intense need to excel and succeed in every task. The keyboardist had rudely demanded a quarter inch to XLR connection, and you practically sprinted to the storage room to find it. 

You rounded the corner at the end of the hallway too fast, crashing into Bryan with a force that nearly knocked you over - were it not for his wide, shredded chest, and had he not cradled you in his massive, corded arms, and gentle embrace.

“Hahaha Mya, baby, take it slooowww.” He tenderly brushed the hair back from your forehead, eyes skimming over your face and body, to make sure you weren’t hurt. 

You weren’t injured, but you _were_ winded, and it wasn’t from the collision. His strength, his warmth, it enveloped you, rendered you speechless. You don’t even know how long you stood there, immobile, looking like a complete goof - lips parted, eyes wide, before you could barely mutter out a weak “I- I’m so sorry.” 

Sheepishly, you try your hardest to muster up any semblance of coherence in your dazed state, stammering out “I, I- was rushing, to the storage room. I wasn’t paying attention to how fast I was moving, just trying to get stuff done, you know? I didn’t mean to… wasn’t trying to crash into you like that.” You look up tentatively and get rewarded with the softest smile forming on his lips. “Thanks, y’know, for, for catching me.”

The epitome of professionalism, Bryan caressed your upper arms tenderly to make sure you were ok to stand. “It’s alright. Haha, you’re good baby! Lucky I intercepted before you ran into the wall.” 

Bryan flashed you one of his cheesy exaggerated eye raises, and you could swear his fucking iris sparkled. 

“Now back to work, alright?” He placed his mammoth palm at the small of your back, and you could briefly feel the span from thumb to fingertips stretching the width of your body. But slowly, he turned away from you and just walked back into the studio. 

However minute, the interaction left you startled, awestruck, and curiously hungry for deviled eggs. You stood there alone in the hallway, knees still quaking, mouth dry as fuck, panties unmistakably damp.

Working the rest of that night was a real struggle.

As much as you tried to stay busy, jumping up to handle the most mind-numbing tasks to keep your brain occupied with the mundanity (c’mon was it _really_ necessary to spit-shine the cowbells? definitely not...), you found it _impossible_ to stray from thinking about Bryan. How his firm grip steadied you, how his pleasant scent of fresh laundry, mild vanilla, and the tang of vinegar lingered in your nostrils, how his deep-set eyes burned into your body as he scanned you over with such profound concern, how you could sense an undeniable desire, a mutual yearning despite his corny expression. 

As soon as the session wrapped, you bolted out of there as fast as your feet would take you.

\----

That night in bed, you toss and turn from a fitful sleep. Images and thoughts creep into your head unbidden (but not unwelcome). 

_You look past your shoulder and see delicate, tapered, manicured fingers wrapped completely around your upper arm, gripping you. They keep you balanced._

_A set of stainless steel dog tags hang alongside a bulky 50 gauge white-gold rope chain, both slung around a thick, muscular neck. You imagine pulling at them with your teeth, can feel the heavy weight of the metal, the metallic taste on your tongue. They drop and rest atop a sleeveless black ribbed tank, stretched tight and strained over his broad, hardened chest._

_Ankles, bare and smooth, the pale skin contrasted against black suede Gucci loafers and tailored charcoal trouser hems. They peek out only when he’s seated with his legs crossed, drawing your attention like the warning beacons of Gondor, the faintest demure glimpse of skin lighting you up inside._

_You glance behind as you lean over the control board, seeking approval on the adjustments to make the kick drum sound more punchy, surreptitiously aware that a set of fiery, intense eyes track your graceful movements beneath a vintage pair of wine-tinted sunglasses, straight out of a 1998 URB or XLR8R mag (only worn at night, of course)._

_But there’s no doubt that velvety baritone voice is the cherry on the sundae.Your favorite quality is the sticky low drawl, each syllable expressed so slow like he’s trying to preserve the sentiment of the words in between his lips. Even his regular speech is intensely throaty and deep, sounding like a Technics 1200 pitched down by -8._

_You’ve heard it so often throughout the years, it's become a part of you. On the radio and music videos in constant rotation, listening to CDs in the car, playing as background music when you try desperately to ramp up the intimacy on mediocre dates._

_Just hearing him say your name (and pet names) ‘Mya-baby, can you feed Turbo his afternoon snack? Sweetheart, pass me the headphones. Be careful going home, baby, don’t drive too fast.” It leaves you positively dripping._

You’ve checked the clock on your phone at least half a dozen times: 12:46pm, 1:11am, 1:54am, 2:26am, 3:09am, 3:41am, before your wandering mind starts coming up with full-on scenes.

_You’re organizing cables in the recording studio again like you do every night. The bitch work you happily take on, little things you know will make the workflow easier the next day. Kneeling in the middle of the room is the easiest way to drag them near so you can easily bend down on all fours to pull them closer hand over hand. If you happen to know Bryan is in the adjacent control room doing paperwork, writing lyrics, or whatever, it doesn’t matter. You intentionally make a big show, leaning back on your heels to roll the cable around your forearm and bending down again to reach for the next one._

_Once you’ve finished, just as you begin to stand, legs wobbly, blood returning to your lower limbs, you hear that comforting, deep, baritone voice through the monitors, ordering you to “Bring that ass here.”_

_What? Did you hear him right? You rub your eyes, turn and meet his through the glass. Bryan nods, motioning with his finger for you to come closer. There’s an unmistakable craving written all over his face. You’ve seen it before - just before he digs into a pint of vanilla ice cream - lips smacking, jaw muscles working like he can devour an entire cow._

_You saunter over, still timid, but the anxiety fades with each step knowing that you carry yourself closer and closer to the man you desire, and you need him. As soon as you’re close enough, his hand reaches for yours, maneuvering you to turn around._

_He’s relatively tall, standing at or just shy of 6’ if you had to guess, but you’re tiny by comparison, 5’3 on a good day (wearing heels). His stomach presses at your back, hands poised to grab you, hovering right at your hips._

_Being in this close proximity evaporates any trepidation, and you become dangerously bold, arching your back to shimmy your ass into his groin. His hands land at your waist, a shy grip with almost no pressure, as you rock into his growing hard-on. He’s frozen._

_“Bryan, do you want this?” You continue circling your hips, rubbing your ass up, down, all around his hardening length. You move his hands up to your chest, mock-kneading them against your soft beasts even though his hands are completely slack._

_He stammers, several notches higher than you’ve ever heard before, “Uh- Ohh, uhhh Mya Baby. Baby, you’ve been teasing me so long. I do, Baby, I just like to take it ssslloowww.”_

_“FUCK you’re so hard though. Can you show me what that dick do? MMMmmm..” You moan and reach behind to grip him in hopes of urging things along faster._

_Finally, in some weak semblance of taking control, he seizes your hips and penguin walks you to the edge of the control board leaning you over it, pressing your body into the knobs and dials._

_This is it. You’re wet, ready, eager to see his cock, feel it fill you up, hopefully hear Bryan croon and fucking break as he comes, the way you’ve imagined it time and again listening to his thick gutteral drawl._

_Gingerly, he moves your hair past your ear, leans down and suckles your neck. He takes his sweet damn time, kissing every inch of your neck, then moving to your shoulder._

_Waitaminute._

_His hands aren’t even on you anymore, they’re delicately pinching the straps of your tank top. Your ass isn’t rubbing a dick anymore. He’s uncomfortably holding his hips away from you. WTF is he content just kissing your back for an hour?_

_You turn slightly in confusion but he interrupts._

_“Baby, *kiss* tell me I’m doing good. *kiss* How am I *kiss* making you feel right now?” He stops to look you dead in the eye. “You turned on for me sweetheart?”_

_Fuck this is weird. “Uhh yeah, Bryan, I am.”_

_“Mmmm yeah, that’s what I want to hear.” *kiss* “My hands big enough for you baby?”_

_“Uhh yeah, huge.” And they really are, massive veiny mitts, thick sausages for fingers with neatly trimmed nails, all moisturized and soft like someone who's never held a hammer in their life._

_“Did you like my last single baby?” The kissing slows. “Tell me you paid for it on Apple Music.”_

_WTF is he doing? This is taking FOREVER. “Sure Bryan, I bought it for all my friends and family too. Keep going.”_

_This is beyond frustrating. All the right equipment and he doesn’t know how to use it? Ugh! Just like those audio geeks who splurge on the newest high-end gear - spending $10K on speakers - only to use it for (bleh-) bluetooth, or to listen to fucking Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon on record._

_Such a shame! His cock was so hard. His fingers were so huge.You were so ready._

_And then he comes. Just from kissing. Your shoulder._

“Put them in my pussy please! Just fucking hold them out, I swear I can do all the work.” You lamely mouth into the abyss in your restless, tired, horny state.

This is an absolutely tragic scenario. Now you really can’t sleep. 

Would it be this awkward in real life?

One more check, and it’s already 5:20am. FUCK. Your first class is at 8:30am.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry that ended on a weird note. More (actual, not imagined) smut to follow in subsequent chaps. 
> 
> Follow me on twitter [@babysofttchal](https://twitter.com/babysofttchal) for more dumb stuff.


End file.
